One summer's eve, when the breeze was gone,

And the nightingale was mute.

Ibid.

The hairs on his brow were silver-white,

And his blood was thin and old.

Ibid.

W. M. PRAED. 1802-1839.

Twelve years ago I was a boy,

A happy boy, at Drury's.

School and School-fellows.

Some lie beneath the churchyard stone,
And some before the speaker.

I remember, I remember

How my childhood fleeted by,

The mirth of its December,
And the warmth of its July.

Ibid.

I remember, I remember.

THOMAS B. MACAULAY.

1800-1859.

She (the Roman Catholic Church) may still exist in undiminished vigour, when some traveller from New Zealand shall, in the midst of a vast solitude, take his stand on a broken arch of London Bridge to sketch the ruins of St. Paul's.1 Review of Ranke's History of the Popes.

1 The same image was employed by Macaulay in 1824, in the concluding paragraph of a review of Mitford's Greece, and he repeated it in his review of Mill's Essay on Government, in 1829.

Who knows but that hereafter some traveller like myself will sit down upon the banks of the Seine, the Thames, or the Zuyder Zee, where now, in the tumult of enjoyment, the heart and the eyes are too slow to take in the multitude of sensations? Who knows but he will sit down solitary amid silent ruins, and weep a people inurned and their greatness changed into an empty name? - Volney's Ruins, Ch. 2.

At last some curious traveller from Lima will visit England, and give a description of the ruins of St. Paul's, like the editions of Baalbec and Palmyra. Horace Walpole, Letter to Mason, Nov. 24, 1774.

Where now is Britain?

Even as the savage sits upon the stone

That marks where stood her capitols, and hears
The bittern booming in the weeds, he shrinks
From the dismaying solitude.

Henry Kirke White, Time.

In the firm expectation, that when London shall be an habitation of bitterns, when St. Paul and Westminster Abbey shall stand, shapeless and nameless ruins in the

Macaulay continued.]

The Puritans hated bearbaiting, not because it gave pain to the bear, but because it gave pleasure to the spectators.1

History of England. Vol. i. Ch. 2.

To every man upon this earth
Death cometh soon or late,
And how can man die better
Than facing fearful odds,

For the ashes of his fathers
And the temples of his gods?

Lays of Ancient Rome. Horatius, xxvii.

How well Horatius kept the bridge
In the brave days of old.

Ibid. lxx.

JOHN K. INGRAM.

Who fears to speak of Ninety-eight?
Who blushes at the name?

When cowards mock the patriot's fate,

Who hangs his head for shame?

From The Dublin Nation, April 1, 1843. Vol. i. p. 339.

midst of an unpeopled marsh; when the piers of Waterloo Bridge shall become the nuclei of islets of reeds and osiers, and cast the jagged shadows of their broken arches on the solitary stream, some Transatlantic commentator will be weighing in the scales of some new and now unimagined system of criticism the respective merits of the Bells and the Fudges, and their historians. - Shelley, Dedication to Peter Bell.

1 Even bearbaiting was esteemed heathenish and unchristian; the sport of it, not the inhumanity, gave of fence. Hume, History of England, Vol. i. Ch. 62.

GEORGE P. MORRIS. 1802-1864.

Woodman, spare that tree!
Touch not a single bough!
In youth it sheltered me,

And I'll protect it now.

Woodman, spare that Tree.

A song for our banner? The watchword recall
Which gave the Republic her station :
"United we stand - divided we fall!"

It made and preserves us a nation !
The union of lakes the union of lands-
The union of States none can sever

The union of hearts the union of hands

And the Flag of our Union forever!

The Flag of our Union.

Near the lake where drooped the willow,

Long time ago!

Near the Lake.

JAMES ALDRICH.

1810 - 1856.

Her suffering ended with the day,

Yet lived she at its close,

And breathed the long, long night away,

In statue-like repose.

A Death-Bed.

But when the sun, in all his state,

Illumed the eastern skies,

She passed through Glory's morning gate,

And walked in Paradise.

Ibid.

WILLIAM CULLEN BRYANT.

To him who in the love of Nature holds Communion with her visible forms, she speaks A various language.

Thanatopsis.

Go forth under the open sky, and list
To Nature's teachings.

Old Ocean's gray and melancholy waste,
Are but the solemn decorations all

Of the great tomb of man.

All that tread

The globe are but a handful to the tribes

That slumber in its bosom.

Ibid.

So live that when thy summons comes to join
The innumerable caravan which moves
To that mysterious realm where each shall take
His chamber in the silent halls of death,
Thou go not, like the quarry-slave at night,
Scourged to his dungeon, but, sustained and
soothed

By an unfaltering trust, approach thy grave,
Like one that wraps the drapery of his couch
About him, and lies down to pleasant dreams.

The stormy March has come at last,

Ibid.

With wind and clouds and changing skies;

I hear the rushing of the blast

That through the snowy valley flies.

March.